


Lunatics and Liars

by CodaAtTheEnd



Category: Escape the Night (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaAtTheEnd/pseuds/CodaAtTheEnd
Summary: There is no Evil, no magic, no time travel, no Museum. Just ordinary corpses, and the broken mind of Joey Graceffa.
Relationships: Joey Graceffa/Daniel Preda
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Lunatics and Liars

**Author's Note:**

> This thing was so hard to complete. I had it finished a month ago, but then my computer crashed and I lost everything. It was completely different on the rewrite, but that's okay. This is a story about Joey Graceffa, the man who died, returned, and fell into darkness. It is only fitting that a story about him do the same. (Title stolen from "Digging Up Hatchets" by Shayfer James)

_The room is empty. The room is blank and white and cold. His wrists hurt. The cuffs are too tight. The chair is padded, but the straps are painful. There is nothing to see. His mind drifts away despite his attempts to stay alert._

_A voice made of static echoes through the speakers, interrupting his daydreams. "What do you see?" it asks._

_"Nothing," he replies, and suddenly everything burns and sparks and twitches. He can't move, can't see, can't_ breathe _and it hurts and he doesn't like it and he wants it to_ stop _. And suddenly it does._

_"Now try again," the voice says. "What do you see?"_

* * *

He sits alone in a room surrounded by people who talk around him, about him, but never at him. The dead smile at him and whisper in his ears.

_Trauma_

_Break from reality_

_Delusions_

He can see Daniel, face in hands, in the other room, but he can't get to him until he solves the puzzle. All these tubes in him... How to get them out... He starts pulling on the wires and the Plague Doctor spins to face him and grabs his hands. 

"Stop," the Bird says through the mask. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Joey thinks about that. If escaping is forbidden in this puzzle, rescue is the solution. "Daniel!" he shouts. "Daniel, save me from the Plague Doctor."

In the other room, Daniel starts crying.

* * *

_He learns quickly. Do not question, do not break the rules, do not assume, do not fail. There are more, but these are the ones established first. Next, the mutability of reality is drilled into him. The world is an illusion. Everything they say is real, be it magic or Gods or monsters hunting him. There are scars from the beasts that don't exist when he blinks._

_Obedience is rewarded with nothing. Rebellion is punished with everything. It's easier to try to obey and fail than to rebel pointlessly, needlessly, painfully. Sometimes, they give him things, and he cannot quell the shock_ joy _surprise_ wonder _joy_ hope _dismay. It is hard to hate them when they are kind._

_They teach him many things. Puzzles, games, warfare, mythology. He loves learning. He treasures every scrap they throw at him. But he hates them. He tries to remember that._

_He fails._

* * *

Daniel didn't know when it started. He wasn't at the party. All he knew was the aftermath. Joey truly, earnestly believed the house had been possessed by an Evil, the previous owners haunted the house, and there were strange artifacts his friends had died for. Daniel didn't know _how_ Joey had made such an intricate fantasy, but he stayed in that world. Luckily, Joey still remembered his normal life, but not even his fellow survivors could convince him about what happened that night. 

Teaching Joey what was real felt like trying to teach a baby how to do complicated mathematics. There was just no point. Joey wouldn't learn a thing. The best way to help him was to go along with it. At least then, Joey wouldn't have another mental breakdown. He was going to _sue_ that therapist. 

It was better to treat his other issues. His inability to ask questions, his distrust of people in formal attire, his dissociative episodes, his literal thinking. Reality would come in time. They were making progress. Joey asked more questions, dissociated less, and felt more comfortable around fancy clothes. It was good. Eventually, Joey would be back to normal.

* * *

_The lessons continue, regardless of his opinion on the matter. First and foremost (besides everything else he has learned): Trust nothing but the Society. Everything else is naught but an illusion. Everything around you is a lie. There is only the Society. Do not believe an outsider._

_He wants to believe that everything is real, that_ Daniel _is real, but he knows the truth. There is only the Society._

* * *

He woke up, and Joey wasn't next to him.

"Joey?" he whispered. "Joey, where are you?"

There was a clatter from the bathroom. He walked over hesitantly and opened the door. Joey stared at him with fear in his eyes and an empty pill bottle in his hands. 

"Joey," Daniel said, "what did you do with the pills?"

Joey said nothing, but his eyes darted towards the toilet. 

Daniel sighed. "Joey, those pills _help_ you. They're not poison. You have to take them."

Joey started shaking, and Daniel hugged him tightly. 

"Sorry," Joey whispered. "Sorry for breaking the rules. I'll be good. No need for punishment."

Daniel felt like crying. "I'll never punish you, Joey," he murmured, but he knew Joey didn't believe him.

* * *

_Eventually, he gives in. He could only hold out so long. The combination of punishment and rewards tames him, much like the proverbial donkey. The people are kind enough when he is not resisting. He knows about Stockholm Syndrome, but how could he not love being shown the truth? How could he not adore the people who show him how to fight? How could he not idolize the people who freed him from the false promises of reality?_

_They make him a world better than his own. One filled with all of his dreams. Magic, and time travel, and Evil, and secrets. Wonderful, beautiful, horrifying dreams. This is so much better than reality. Even when the real world seeps through the cracks, it's fine. The glass prison they made can tolerate a little reality. It can adapt._

* * *

Eva stood awkwardly on Daniel's front porch with Oli, trying to build up the courage to knock. She kept raising her hand and lowering it, raising and lowering, raising and lowering. Oli did the same, but more discreetly. They both knew what lay ahead, and it terrified them. Finally, they knocked.

A voice yelled, "Coming!" and the door opened. 

Eva stepped in first, Oli following behind. She was so nervous. Daniel had told her about Joey's... problem, and she couldn't help thinking of those TV portrayals of psychosis and schizophrenia. 

Joey waved at her, and she smiled. "Hi, Joey," she said. "How are you?"

Joey smiled conspiratorially. "The _Society_ visited. They have _secrets_."

Eva's smile grew slightly strained. "What society?"

Joey frowned. "You know, the one that Shane was a part of. The Society Against Evil."

And then she realized what Joey was talking about. It wasn't a society against evil, but it did share the initials. Shane had been part of a volunteer group called the Society Assisting Escapees, devoted to aiding those who had escaped from abductions. They had been trying to shut the manor down for years, and Shane's invitation was the perfect opportunity. 

Somehow, she felt vaguely reassured by Joey's mention of the Society. Reality was still _there_ for Joey, just a little jumbled. He wasn't suddenly a different person. He was Joey, just confused. It was comforting.

* * *

_Once resistance crumbles, his re-education concludes quickly. The chair is not used as often. The staff are kind to him, though they are of course ignorant. Eventually, the shock collar is removed in favor of deprivation. He has grown accustomed to luxury. Taking it away is_ extremely _effective. He indulges too often. He makes mistakes, fails, and learns again._

_The lessons do not stick well, but he tries. He makes an effort. He uses logic and intellect. They don't care about effort, but they do appreciate results. He gets them results._

* * *

Daniel sat in the waiting room of a familiar hospital, waiting for news. An hour ticked by slowly, as though time had turned to frozen molasses. Another hour. Tick... Tick... Tick...

A doctor walked towards him. "Mr. Preda?"

"Yes," he said. "That's me."

"You can see him."

He walked into a room filled with beeping machinery and wires. Joey looked so small, so frail when he was in this room. As if the patterns of his life could be reduced to beeping and lines on a graph. As if he was just numbers, not a person. 

"Daniel?" Joey murmured dreamily. "Is that you? Have you come to save me from the clock tower?"

Daniel took Joey's hand in his and sighed. "Why did you take all the pills?"

Joey paused, the confusion on his face breaking Daniel's heart. "You said the pills were _good_. You said they would _help_. The more the better, obviously. You're not supposed to _lie_."

Daniel shook his head slowly, apologetically. "I'm sorry, Joey. I wasn't clear. One pill a day. No more, no less."

Joey nodded, smiling brightly. "Okay. One pill. Exactly one. Got it."

That was how Daniel learned that Joey understood precise instructions the best. Implications were beyond him. His logic was simplistic, so instructions had to be clear. Otherwise, Joey might do something dangerous. The more he knew how to help Joey, the better. Things were improving. Everything was getting better.

* * *

_He loves Daniel, but orders come first. The Society_ _comes first. They call, and he obeys. It's beautiful. It's glorious. He has to leave. He_ has _to._

* * *

Daniel entered his house and instantly knew something was wrong. Normally, Joey sat with the dogs while he was gone, but Storm, Wolf and Lark were all visible, and Joey was nowhere near them. Then he found the note. 

_Daniel Im sorry but I have to go to the masquerade its beautiful forgive me it wont let me SLEEP you understand right dont be mad i dont want you to be mad will you forgive me itssobeautifulletmegoLETMEGO_

He called the police.

* * *

_For a moment, reality reasserts itself as the glass prison edits the story. Now, the Evil is a coveted prize instead of a fearsome foe. Now, there is a God he serves. Now, there is a woman trapped without power, gems scattered through the land, a mansion filled with magic. Yes, this is real. Of course it is real. How could it be anything else?_

* * *

He stumbles through the gates of the mansion, climbs the stairs, and manages to enter. This place... It calls to his _soul_. And there, a woman with a staff. The one he has to see. He collapses in the entry hall as the Sorceress grabs him and takes him away. 

"Write," she orders, and he obeys. His mind is not his own. In the ballroom, a thousand monsters don a thousand masks and celebrate. Dinner is on its way.

* * *

When Liza got the letter, she hadn't talked to Joey in weeks, maybe even months. She hadn't thought much of it, considering the mass murder he had witnessed, but that letter piqued her interest. She put on the neat outfit provided and entered the carriage. 

The ride took _forever_ , and she didn't have her phone, but when she got to see the _beautiful_ mansion, it was all worth it. That thing was _huge._ It was kind of unnerving to realize her mediocrity compared to this glorious estate, but she was the Explorer! She would not back down! Gathering her confidence, she marched through the entrance.

The inside was prettier than the outside somehow. The chandelier hung like falling raindrops among the lights, reflecting rainbows across the room. She talked to the other guests and enjoyed herself for a brief moment before a weirdo walked down the stairs.

"Welcome to my home," the man said. "My name is Dorian."

"Excuse me!" she interjected. "Where's Joey?"

Dorian smiled sharply, like a wolf. "He wanted me to greet you on his behalf as he will be making his entrance shortly."

That sounded _really_ sketchy, but she couldn't do anything, so she said nothing. A year ago, Joey had been tricked into having a party just like this one, and eight people died. He was probably dead. She shouldn't have come. 

"I propose a toast!" Dorian declared, holding his glass aloft. "To Joey Graceffa!"

"To Joey!" the group chorused. 

"To Joey!" she muttered. "Wherever he may be."

* * *

_Reality is an illusion. That is a rule drilled into him by months of training and agony. The new reality changes on a whim. It has to fit the story, after all. There is a narrative here. The Cursed God commands the Evil and the Sorceress. There are more servants. More games. More slaughterings. He serves as well, though in this reality it is unwillingly._

_He doesn't really know anymore. He can't remember anymore. Is this reality? Is this fiction? Is Daniel telling the truth? Is the Society? Well, of course the_ _Society is telling the truth. Truth is fiction. The game is life._

* * *

Alex paced back and forth in the locked room, waiting for Lauren or DeStorm to come back. He _hoped_ it was Lauren, but he didn't want DeStorm to die. He didn't want anyone to die. He was still mostly in shock from how the events of the day. First, he'd been invited to a party with his girlfriend. Next, they'd found Joey chained up and bleeding. Dorian had _licked_ him very creepily. According to Alison, they're cannibals. She's vegetarian, fortunately.

Now, they have to die to get some keys to a box. For some reason, the old-fashioned cannibals bow to single combat as a rite of passage, so now they have to face off against each other in strange challenges to earn the favor of the "lieutenants" of the place.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice DeStorm walk in. Then he just couldn't accept it. If DeStorm was alive, then _Lauren_... Oh God, _Lauren_... This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be _real_. Lauren couldn't be dead. She couldn't. He just couldn't accept it. DeStorm stood there, spouting harsh, cold facts, but Lauren was alive just minutes before, her dress so beautiful, her eyes like stars beneath the chandelier. How could she be dead?

DeStorm smirked as he returned. That arrogance killed him.

* * *

He walks the Path of Betrayal, his breath crystallizing in the cold air. He walked this Path once before, with a book and a friend. That time, he struck down the one who challenged him. She choked on her own blood as he smiled. This time, there is no one who must face his wrath, so he stands down and lets the Mystic decide. She holds Tana's stone high and dashes it against the frozen earth. Does she see the future in the shards? 

There is no gem. They killed Tana, and there is no gem. It's not fair. The Sorceress established rules, she enforced those rules, and now she doesn't play by them. That's so rude! He walks away, barely even noticing Tana's limp body.

* * *

At long last, they had every key. Alex died, but they had them all. Tana's death had not been for naught after all. They placed the keys in the box, and it clicked open, revealing another key, larger than the rest but missing its teeth. Bitter, acrid disappointment spread through the room. Yet another thing to find. Yet another thing to die for. Yet another body on the floor.

They followed the note's instructions and ran to the foyer balcony. They stood there awkwardly for a moment before the angel statue clicked open, and a key fell to the floor. Triumph reigned for the first time that night. They could _leave_. They could escape this nightmare. They could go _home_. For the first time that evening, everything was going right.

Of course, that's when everything went horribly, terribly wrong. The Sorceress swept into the room, her eyes gleaming with triumph and a twisted mockery of joy. "All this time," she whispered, "it was right here."

"No!" Joey shouted, angered and delusional like a little boy hiding under the covers saying, _La la la la_ as if the monsters can't hurt him if he can't see them, hear them, recognize their faces. "No, we defeated you! We have the key!"

There was a click behind them, and a familiar voice said, "Give it to me." It was Cash, and a gun.

They didn't want to give up the key. It was their only way to escape. Without it, they had nothing. Their friends died for _nothing_. But if they died here, they couldn't escape. Slowly, painfully, mournfully, Joey pulled the key out of his pocket and handed it over. 

There is nothing worse than the death of hope and the crushing weight of despair.

* * *

Alright, so _maybe_ it was a bad idea to just casually approach the evil lady who had killed seven people, but he was really excited at the time. And yeah, so it didn't turn out so great, but journey before destination, right? The knife didn't even hurt. He's more concerned about his _amazing_ shirt. No amount of hydrogen peroxide is getting this stain out. 

As his lifeblood drains from his body, he sees Riley rush over with a knife and stab the Sorceress over and over and over and over and over. Good for her. She's a _little_ torn up about it, but she does admirably for a first attempt. First kill's always the hardest. Eventually, she won't even care that she got blood on her clothes.

And if you think about it, he didn't end up too bad. Tyler and Andrea escape, Riley and Jetpack Girl are _totally_ a couple now, and he gets a sweet mansion for a grave! DeStorm got a swimming pool, but _he_ gets a mansion! Not too shabby. 

His vision dulls as the infinite sea pulls him under. It's like sleep, but this time, it's forever. Oblivion tastes so sweet, but he wishes it wasn't so cold.

* * *

Life is unfair and the world is cruel. Daniel sat alone with his dogs, trying not to think of Joey, who should be sitting next to him. Joey, who would normally be petting the dogs and giving them ice creams. Joey, who should be _alive_. Joey, who was stabbed in the heart by his kidnapper in her dying breaths. Joey, who is never coming back. 

The dogs knew something was wrong. Smart dogs. They nudged him with their noses and licked his face. He petted them and pretended the moisture on his face was dog spit instead of tears. 

A year passed, filled with mourning, and anguish, and regret. Then... then people got letters.

* * *

_It's cold, and dark, and screams echo though the silence. He is alone. It's so cold, and empty, and the screams are his own. His throat hurts. He claws at his arms just to have something to do. It_ hurts _but it is not enough._

_"If you wish to be released, invite your friends to the next slaughtering."_

_He doesn't want to, but the void awaits him with greedy jaws, and nothing will remain of him soon. He tries to refuse, but his mouth won't form the words, and he finds himself in a car, driving to the meeting place. Everlock awaits._

* * *

The Youtubers accepted, because of folly, because of courage, because people are stupid, because people are bold. Saving Joey was the goal, the mantra, the prayer on everyone's lips. They came, they fought, they died.

(They die so easily, like paper in flame. Are these our heroes? Are these our saviors? Are these the ones who can vanquish the ravenous killers? Are these our opponents? Are these our eternal enemies? Are these the ones who will tear out our hearts? They are not so impressive.)

The game cannot be won.

* * *

They gathered in an abandoned field and waited. Hours passed with no sign of the one they sought. Finally, he came, a smile plastered on his lips and a story about a town spilling out of his mouth. He led them to a town terrorized by serial killers. They opened a box, and the killers followed, knives in hand, screaming and laughing and smiling. Their eyes gleamed in the neon lights. The townsfolk pretended that everything was all as it should be, but the fear in their eyes spoke for itself. 

The mayor died, and an unspoken accord was broken. A man known as Mortimer [mort "dead" + mer "sea" Mortimer "dead sea"] saved our intrepid heroes from their impending demise. The clowns laughed, their smiles sharper than the glint of a knife. The victims played along with the game, for the most part.

* * *

He is among friends, supposedly. It could be another illusion designed to break him, like the one about... about... It could be an illusion. The Cursed God is quite powerful and knows his mind better than he does. He fights to save a town for his life. He takes 9 lives to regain his own. Maybe he's a cat, his nine lives depleted. Maybe this is Hell, and Everlock is his punishment. Forced to fight and die over and over again, watching his friends die to save his own worthless life. Of course, he'll run out of friends eventually. 

* * *

Matthew stared at the man who had brought them there and demanded a confession. So many had died for him already, and more corpses would litter the ground before they could escape. 

"Answer me," he demanded, cold and clear. "If you don't, I'll leave you here with the clowns and the killers and the monsters. I'll go, and everyone else can come with me."

For the first time, Joey's calm mask slipped, revealing terror. "You can't leave!" he said in a panicked voice. "You can't break the rules!"

Matthew frowned, confusion creasing his brow. He had never taken Joey to be a stickler for the rules. 

Colleen stepped forward, much to his relief. "Joey, I want to trust you, but right now I can't. We're friends, right? Friends tell each other secrets, even if they're hard to share."

This seemed to get to Joey, and he spoke at long last. "They... They said... They said they would let me out. They said they would let me _go_ if I brought more people."

Matthew would ordinarily feel some sympathy for the broken man, but at the moment he felt nothing but disgust. "So what you're saying is you're willing to trade nine lives for yours."

Joey was crying softly, tears streaming down his face, but Matthew didn't care. Sympathy was only a weakness in this game.

* * *

Anyone who opposes him dies. Matthew, so clever, so bold, dared to contest his authority, and he got his throat crushed by a demonic keeper of the peace. Colleen, so kind, so sweet, so angry, doubted him, and she was impaled by an Iron Maiden. Rather fitting for a woman with a spine of steel. They die and die and die again, but at least he lives. At least they are obeying. At least he will survive. 

Matthew's return is something he is not looking forward too, but he seems to have learned his lesson. He does not suspect, or if he does, he does not comment on it. Wise choice. 

There is something wrong with him. He brought his friends into this, and he does not feel guilty. He does not care for them in the slightest. His heart is made of steel and coal. Maybe he just needs to get out. Hopefully Daniel will take him back. Maybe Daniel won't want him with blood on his hands. Maybe Daniel will stare at him and close the door. Maybe...

He cuts off the thought. (He's gotten a lot better at that lately.) No time to worry about maybe's. He needs to get out. He needs to see Daniel and Maria and Lark and Wolf and Storm. They probably miss him. The Cursed God wants him to spread the word, so more can be brought into the fold. He lets the game unfold, each twist agonizing. 

_Why are we still here? Just to suffer?_

He loses everyone. They all lose everyone. Each separation so perfectly painful. Manny and Nikita. Mat and Ro. Colleen and himself. Beautiful, magnificent, glorious suffering. 

"I offer this pain to the Cursed God," he whispered, staring at a church housing a fellow servant of his Lord and Master. "May It make better use of it than me."

* * *

Jael and Ryu stepped out of the car. They had been summoned by the victims, all according to plan. Next, they would "kill" Nick and pretend the game was over. Of course, Nick wouldn't _die_ , no. He would never engage in something so plebeian. It's just a game. No one really dies in a game.

They met up with the guests and promptly strode towards the church. After some terse introductions, they arrived at Nick's lair. The "kill" was brief. All vengeance should be short, pretend or otherwise. Sparring with Nick was vaguely reminiscent of their training days. A quick blow, and it was over. Nick played dead as Joey picked up a phone that was video-chatting with someone. Suddenly, as planned, the Explorer escaped and picked up the phone. A brief conversation later, the next round was guaranteed.

This had been fun. Nick had done _so_ well. He'd gotten them to push their friend into a box of _spikes_ , for crying out loud. He deserved a promotion. Maybe Calli could take his place. She was really good at the creep factor. Morty could be a lieutenant. His acting skills were top notch. Maybe _they_ could try a round. It had been a while since they'd played.

* * *

Daniel paced back and forth on the front porch, surrounded by barking dogs. The SAE said they would drop Joey off at 9 AM, and it was currently 8:57. He was so nervous. What if Joey was trapped in his head? What if Joey didn't want to come back to him? What if Joey didn't want to _live_ anymore? What if—

Wolf jumped up and licked his face, and Daniel pushed him down, smiling. The dogs were just as excited as he was, though they probably didn't understand that Joey was coming back. More a residual excitement than a comprehending one. 

Seconds passed like years, like eons, like eternities. At 9, on the dot, a black car pulled up. The dogs ran out to meet it, an army of hounds. The blond woman who stepped out of the car was almost knocked over by the dogs. Daniel walked forward slowly, cautiously, anxiously. He could see the outline of a face through the tinted window...

The door opened. Joey turned to look at him. 

"Joey?" he whispered softly, scarcely daring to hope. 

Joey smiled. "Daniel!" he exclaimed. "You're here!"

Daniel blinked in confusion. "Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?"

Joey grinned broadly, like a cat in a sunbeam. "At the carnival!" The dogs ran up and jumped at him, and Joey laughed

Daniel bit his lip. At least Joey didn't seem any worse. He recognized the dogs and the house. He seemed to be cognizant. Good enough, for now. "Come on," he said, extending a hand. "Let's go inside."

Joey took his hand and followed him inside.

* * *

It is time. His friends need him. The rescue mission has been planned with the SAE and the Everlock survivors. Nothing will go wrong. The SAE have made sure of it. He collects the machine from where they laid it to rest, sparking and smoking and screaming. The manor is abandoned, ivy creeping up the walls and cobwebs everywhere. No spiders though. They wouldn't dare trespass in the Evil's domain. 

As he walks out through the rust-covered gate, he feels a strange rush of sorrow _regret_ nostalgia _longing_ terror _mourning_ anguish _no_ no _NO_. It is like leaving home. Nothing will ever be the same again. The emotion passes quickly. The car starts up, and he is on his way to the Collector's Museum.

* * *

Matthew sat in a forest with Nikita, Jael, Ryu, and Nikita's friend Bretman. Joey was taking forever, as usual. Nikita was holding the phone Joey had found in Everlock, and he had the key. Presumably, the keys for this organization were standardized. Yet another piece of evidence for the mountain that accused the Society Assisting Escapees. He hadn't told everyone about his suspicions, but he had some flash drives with all the evidence, and he had distributed them among Steph and all his friends in case he didn't come back. He didn't expect to come back.

At long last, Joey pulled up with the equipment from the first slaughtering that would provide the verification code for the defenses. (More evidence) After some friendly greetings, Nikita revealed her surprise.

"So, is this a bad time to mention that I'm inviting someone to the party?" 

"The party's here!" Bretman exclaimed as he walked out of the trees. 

"Nikita, I told you not to invite anyone," Joey said disapprovingly. "This is going to be a dangerous mission."

Matthew stopped listening to the conversation as Jael and Ryu walked in. His mind kept screaming _Danger!_ but if he revealed his knowledge, he would die. He took a deep breath and tried to force his beating heart to be still. Jael laid out the game plan, and by the end of the pep talk, he was able to smile and joke around like nothing was wrong. 

They set up the equipment to drop the defenses. Joey, Bretman, and Nikita stood by the gate, ready to go. The machine activated, and Joey and Bretman ran through the gate. Before Nikita could enter, the machine sparked violently and died. Yeah, the SAE was definitely working with the kidnappers. But that's just a theory, a real life theory! Thanks for surviving.

* * *

The portal has failed. There is no escape. The only way is forward. His friends await him, trapped in glass cages. He killed these people, watched their bodies hit the floor. He felt no remorse then. He feels none now. He must save _ ~~(destroy)~~_ them. It is his task, his duty, his mission. He cannot disappoint the Cursed God.

The cages shatter, and they hate him. He expected this, but they won't _listen_ to him. He's trying to save them, and they would rather run off and die. Bretman also seems suspicious. If Nikita and Matthew had made it through the portal, maybe the victims would be more chill, but the cards have been dealt, and he can do nothing to bring them forth. 

They have no choice but go along with him. The guards come and take away much of their number. The Sorceress returns and this time, she is an ally. He knows she will betray him eventually, but for now, he plays along. There are gears, and a ticking clock, and a note. They will die if they don't escape, but that's old news. Death is inevitable.

* * *

Justine hadn't expected to see Joey when she woke up. She hadn't expected to wake up at all. She was shoved into a coffin by friends that she had _trusted_. Then there was a feeling of euphoria, and darkness. Then she was here, with a former friend who had stood by while she was killed. He claimed to be saving them, but she knew he didn't mean it. She knew him too well to miss his lie. Somehow, she's been dressed up, hair styled nicely. Were people _touching_ her? Was she... What happened while she was out?

* * *

The guards obey his every command. He is their leader now. He could make them do anything. He could destroy them, or his friends, or himself. He could rule, or fall, or scream his empty _screeching_ cold _nightmare_ agony to the skies. He restrains himself, simply ordering them away. Their death would only worsen his shaky position in the eyes of the others. They hate him. That is expected. They will hate him forever. That is expected. Their hatred has no effect on this mission. He is here to save ~~retrieve~~ his friends ~~master's box~~. 

The weakest face each other in a battle of construction. First to the finish lives. In a twist, the one thought weak prevails, ordering the mummy to slaughter the failure. A key. The museum changes with each turn of the lock. A giant puzzle box, unleashing monsters at every turn. The game _ticks_ forward. Death after death, no return this time. Bodies hit the floor. It's horrible. ~~It's beautiful.~~ He smiles and laughs and screams and cries. What a work of art.

* * *

DeStorm didn't want to die. He was lucky enough to escape death once, when those _people_ faked his death and took him to... wherever this place is. Now, he had a second chance. A chance to see his wife and Tayvion again. A chance to _live_. He wasn't just going to _die_. 

But then he was sat at a table across from Alex, a game before him, a gun behind. He was going to win. Alex didn't know what he was doing. Everything was going fine. But... What was he thinking? He couldn't stop now. He couldn't just _give up_. Not when he was winning. Not when he was about to move on. Not when Alex was going to get a bullet to the brain. Not when... 

He smirked, cocky as ever. No point in going all sentimental. That's not how he wanted to go. With a grin plastered across his face, he whispered, "This is for Lauren." Alex froze, shock etched across his face. DeStorm didn't. In one smooth motion, he stood and elbowed the guy behind him in the stomach. As the guy collapsed, he grabbed the gun and started shooting. He managed four shots before he was taken down.

His last thoughts were of the family he had left behind.

* * *

Nikita sat by a mound of junk that had been their hopes and dreams. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to go in and rescue everyone. Bretman was just supposed to be with her as moral support when she found out if Manny was... if...

She didn't know who was alive. She just knew that 9 people had lived, though Liza had probably been killed for getting out. She had _seen_ Manny die, she had felt the bullets leave the gun, but she still clung to that wondrous, impossible hope. They could have been fake bullets, or the straitjackets could have been Kevlar, or maybe she was just remembering wrong, or maybe Manny was... 

She wanted Manny to be alive, but now she couldn't find out. Now she was trapped out here, on the other side of a gate with a machine that was supposed to fix everything. The key had shattered, the defenses returned, and they were _stuck_ here. Joey and Bretman were inside, and they couldn't get out. Even if they saved everyone, they would be caught by the returning leader and killed. Bretman wasn't supposed to be involved in all of this. He was just supposed to stand by her when she found out. This wasn't _right_.

Then the gate opened. She looked towards the machine, but it was still dead. That was weird, but it didn't matter. The gate was down. They could get inside. 

With a faint smile on her face, she grabbed Matthew's hand and ran through.

* * *

When Colleen dies, his first instinct is to scream. He's done so _much_ , he's saved and killed so many people, he's lost everything. Why can't he have something for himself this time? Why can't he just keep _something_? Why does everything have to slip away like sand? He knows, of course, that he doesn't deserve it, but he _wants_ it. 

Matthew is gone, snatched away by the absent favor of the angels, but he _knows_ , and they know he knows, and he knows they know he knows, and...

And they have a chance to bring someone back. He knows who he wants, because he wants _something_ strange and unidentifiable, but Colleen will suffice, and the Genie will only bring back the dead. He asks, and they wait, and then they are attacked by pirates. Colleen is back, and the strange _wanting_ subsides slightly, though it still _burns_. 

He wants one thing, and it's the only thing he can't have. He wants it _because_ he can't have it. It's what everyone wants, and what everyone claims they don't want, and what everyone loathes with a bitter passion. He doesn't know what he wants. Everyone wants what they can't have.

Colleen is back, and for now, everything is okay.

* * *

Bretman didn't come to the party to save anyone. He was just there for Nikita, to help her and hold her and smile at her when everything was going wrong. He hadn't even thought of him dying. But now he was standing on a stage, a knife to his throat, and his friends had to vote. Who lived, who died. Nikita wanted him to live, of course, but everyone else... His fate was sealed long ago. He didn't have any ties to these people. He didn't know them well. Joey had been friends with all of them, had caused their near-deaths and abductions. They _knew_ Joey. They didn't know him.

The votes were tallied slowly, so agonizingly slowly. They knew what the count was, but they were just dragging it out. Scheherazade laughed. "Fatima, kill him."

The woman holding a knife to his throat looked at him with mournful eyes and whispered a silent apology. He tried to be calm, but he couldn't suppress the panic welling up inside him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't _want_ to _die_. Her grip tightened around the dagger as she swung...

Into Scheherazade's throat. He lived. For now, he lived. 

* * *

Rosanna did not expect to die. Sure, the possibility was always _there_ , but she had never expected Joey to throw her to the dinosaurs, literally. She couldn't believe him. He voted for _her_. They had been friends, before. She had thought they were still friends. She was wrong, of course. Friends don't kill each other, unless the word "friend" was suddenly redefined without her knowledge. But anyway, she hadn't expected this. Bretman was going to beat her, of course. He hadn't been locked up in a _Collector_ -esque basement for a year, pumped full of soporifics, paralytics, and other such things. 

The feeding pit was disgusting. The blood certainly _smelled_ like real blood, copper tang heavy in the air. The dinosaurs, though obviously mechanical, were _huge_. Their claws and teeth were clearly sharp enough to tear her limb from limb. To bring herself a morsel of hope, she attempted to tame the dinosaurs like Chris Pratt. They were machines, but it allowed her to pretend for a while. Pretend that she's not moments away from certain doom. Pretend that she's going to _live_ , that she'll see Matthew again, that her life is waiting for her, that Mike and Cookie and everyone else are just a few hours away. 

Bretman found the last organ, and the dream shattered. She ran, but it was far too late.

* * *

Betrayal stings, sharp and cloying in his throat. The Sorceress killed him, he knows this, but he still trusted her. He thought she was an ally. It is to be expected, of course. She is dark and cold and heartless, after all. She carved out Riley long ago. She is no match for the Collector. A laugh and a scream later, they are battling fiercely, staff to staff, heart to heart.

When the monsters emerge, he isn't even surprised. All he can muster is a faint smile and a laugh. _My dearest enemies_ , he thinks hopelessly, ruefully, wretchedly. _We meet again_.

The killers scream and laugh and smile. The world drips blood at the edges and nothing will ever be okay.

* * *

The Collector smiled as the herald advanced, blade in hand. She was still locked in fierce combat with the Sorceress, so she deftly slid her blade into her enemy's chest, piercing the blood packs arranged specifically for this purpose. As she revelled in her victory, she let the blade puncture her chest. The blade was stopped by her stab-proof vest, of course. She wasn't hurt, but there was just enough blood and gore for it to feel real. The herald and his companions celebrate as he snatches the key from her. 

Though it is a game, she still resents playing the loser. She won! She defeated them, she orchestrated a masterful game, but she still has to lie limp, still, cold, dead. It bothers her, just a little. The plan is running smoothly, and everything is as it should be. She still doesn't like it.

* * *

Colleen couldn't help but be nervous. All the other keys had unleashed horrible nightmares and killers. Sure, the Collector was dead, but the final key might have a worse monster, or another death game. It was terrifying. She didn't want to die. None of them wanted to die.

Joey turned the key, and a vault opened. There was a small box covered in strange runes, but that wasn't important. What's important is the machine. Bretman grabbed it immediately, explaining how it could deactivate the gate. She smiled for the first time in ages, and they ran outside to set up the device. She had to drag Joey away from the weird box, but that didn't matter. They were going home. They were going _home_. She couldn't believe it. 

The machine took a few minutes to activate, but in a heartbeat, the gate deactivated. They could get through. Her life was so _close_. She and Bretman ran through immediately, but Joey didn't move. She called to him fervently, but he just smiled and turned away. In another moment, the gate reactivated, and he was gone.

Nikita tackled Bretman in an embrace, but Colleen didn't move. She just stared after her best friend, her bitter enemy, her killer, her savior, her dearest, darling BFF. As she watched the place where Joey once stood, the realization that he wasn't coming back hit her like a blow. Sure, he had gotten her in this mess, sure, he had messed up, but he had come _back_. He'd _tried_. And now he was gone. And she suddenly realized that this was forever. There were no second chances, no rematches. Joey was _gone_. She was alive, but Joey was gone. Was it worth it? She didn't know. 

She missed him already.

* * *

When he sees the box, he knows. The glyphs are in a language they taught him, and he cannot forget anything they taught him. Emblazoned across the box over and over and over is a single word. His name-glyph. _Joey_. Yes, he wants to leave, yes, he wants to go home and see Daniel, but the Society has always come first. As his friends leave, he turns back to the box, _his_ box, and opens it. The instructions inside are scrupulously accurate. 

* * *

In the garage of an opulent museum, there is a driver sitting in a nondescript car, waiting for a person to get in his car so they can drive to a specified location. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and exhales, letting the smoke fill the car. He would open a window, but they said not to. All he can do is wait. 

A young man runs into the garage as though the devil himself was chasing him. The driver breathes in, breathes out. The guy opens a door, letting the smoke escape into the air. The driver starts the engine. 

The Society stole his life a long time ago. He was young when they drew him in, he was young when they killed him. He's one of them now, and no guilt burns his chest as he stares at himself decades and lifetimes ago. So innocent, so broken. The game continues as it always did. A victim, a murder, a thousand corpses hit the floor.

And so it continues.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not what it was, but it is complete. Tell me what you think.


End file.
